Several things go through your mind when there are five lions outside the flimsy door of your tent: How fast do lions run? What do they like to eat? Do I have Mom on my cell phone's speed dial?

Also, that it's a good idea (that no one specifically tells you) to read the fine print in travel brochures - especially when 700-pound carnivores are involved.

I didn't, and suddenly the African bush seemed a lot, um, closer than I had intended.

Traveling alone in Africa, I met some fun travelers from Finland, including Tuomo, who talked me into going on safari in South Africa's Balulu Nature Reserve, near Kruger National Park. Now, standing on the viewing deck, he pointed to the watering hole and asked, "Do you see them? Look at the five of them."

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Five lionesses were basking in the sun, clearly content and relaxed. Our guide, Octavus, explained that the cats must have had a "nice lunch." (Translation: They killed some animal and chomped it to bits.) Beauty and nature in action.

"We're so lucky; I haven't seen lions at the watering hole for over two years now," Octavus said in a smooth Afrikaner accent. "Now let me show you to your tents."

It was then I took a good look around me. No gates, no fences, no borders, and I was sleeping in a tent. In Africa. I'd never slept in a tent in California, or anywhere else, for that matter.

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered. Then, turning to Tuomo, I said, "I'm going to kill you, if I don't become those lions' dinner first. I didn't know we were sleeping in tents."

A wicked grin spread over his face and he said something about not reading the fine print in the catalog.

I could only imagine what else had been in the fine print I hadn't read.

No one else seemed bothered, but all I wanted to do was call my mother and have her reassure me.

Not wanting to freak her out, however, I phoned my sister Audrey for moral support and to, if possible, jot down any last requests. I dialed my South African cell phone, praying for reception. The phone started to ring.

"Hello," a friendly voice said from the other side of the planet.

"Audrey, I'm so glad you answered."

"How are you? How's Africa?"

"I'm sleeping in a tent and there are five lions outside and I'm scared."

"What? Masada, I can't hear you. I'm in Costco right now. Can I call you back?"

I just shook my head.

It hadn't occurred to me that the tent would seem a safe haven compared with the next day's activities. A tracker would be joining the group for a hike through the bush, including to the spot where the lions were digesting whatever (or whomever) had been the catch of the day. The problem? No weapons allowed. Apparently, it was time to be one with nature.

I stared into Octavus' brown eyes and said, "I'm exhausted, and was thinking to sleep in tomorrow and skip the nature walk."

He replied in a serious tone, "I can't leave you all alone at the camp. It's not safe."

The nature walk was designed for seeing the little creatures: spiders, scorpions, ants and termites, as well as animal prints.

Sensing my fear, Octavus grinned and said, "Generally speaking, the animals see, hear and sense humans long before we can see them and they run away. Don't worry. We've never lost a client on safari."

It wasn't the reassurance I was looking for.

The next day, we walked single file through the arid grass and scrub. I stayed close to the front, near the weaponless tracker, who showed us prints from zebras, lions and monkeys. He could tell how many hours or days ago the animals created the tracks, and explained how to tell from the shape of giraffe dung whether it came from a female or male. (The female dung has pointy edge, while the male is more round.) I was sure that'll be useful back in California.

We found enormous elephant prints, colorful birds and, much to my secret relief, no face-to-face encounters with lions, rhinos or hippos.

Suddenly, the group spotted a long majestic figure. We walked quietly until we reached a clear area and a young giraffe looked at us inquisitively. She stared at us as much as we gazed at her - a silent reminder we were treading in her world. (And, to the best of my knowledge, no one was ever killed and chomped to bits by a giraffe.)

Gracefully, she walked with us to where we were going next, the watering hole where we had seen the lions. All I could hear was the crunch of the leaves. She then stopped to eat, and nodded her head, as if to wish us well with our journey.

From a not-being-eaten perspective, it did go well. No lions, no leopards, no rhino.